


The One Who Hurts Me Most

by Lady_Vibeke



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Bromance to Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Steelatom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 12:16:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16974435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke
Summary: “I miss this.”Nate's voice sounds strange in the silence of the room, a drop breaking the still, fragile perfection of a water mirror.Ray has an instinctive reply stuck down in his throat, something he wants to say – has wanted to say for way too long – but he can't bring himself to utter it. Because it would sound harsh, even if it's really just honesty, and he doesn't know how to edulcorate it, has no idea how to make it sound like it's not a complaint. Even if it is.“Then why are you being a stranger?”





	The One Who Hurts Me Most

_Every broken heart has screamed at one time or another_  
_"I want to know why!”_  
― Shannon L. Alder

 

 

*

 

Hearing Nate's voice on board of the Waverider, even weeks after he's left, is nothing new to Ray: he sees Nate out of the corner of his eye all the time, feels his pats on his shoulder even though he's perfectly aware Nate isn't there to give him any, so when he stops in the middle of the hallway thinking he's hearing him talk, it's no big deal at all. This is his life, now: missing a piece of himself, dodging the emptiness and the pang in his chest whenever he turns around expecting to find someone who no longer belongs to the place they both used to call home.

Ray inhales, tries to relax. It's okay. He just needs to focus on something else, rip his mind off the thought of Nate and the mirage of his voice.

He keeps walking, but he hasn't moved three steps when he hears it again, clear and unmistakable, and it's not just in his head, because someone else is speaking.

“You can tell Ava she'll have her report when I'm done writing it.”

Zari.

Zari is talking to Nate. Which means Nate is _really_ here, this time.

Ray speeds up his pace.

“Let me get Ray,” Zari is saying. “I'm sure he'd love to-”

“No, please. I'm not really in the mood to see Ray.”

Ray freezes. The smile that has formed on his lips falters.

He's had bullets, daggers, arrows shot at him, and none of these hurt as much as hearing Nate's words. There must be an explanation. There _is_ , he's sure.

“Did you really just say that?” Zari's voice replies, and Ray feels somewhat relieved she soulds as marveled as he is. He pops his head into the parlour: Zari and Nate can't see him from where they're standing. Ray wants to reveal his presence, but there's a morbid curiosity urging him to keep quiet.

“Yeah.” Nate cracks an apologetic half a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “Maybe next time.”

“Oh.” Zari still looks sceptical. “Okay. I'll tell him you say hi.”

Nate nods. “You do that. Bye Z.”

Zari leaves. She doesn't seem surprised when she runs into Ray in the corridor. She doesn't say anything; she just taps his arm and disappears around the corner, leaving Ray to stare at Nate's back with a gaping mouth and something bitter under his tongue.

Nate stares at the wall for a while. Ray wonders if he has zoned out or is just musing over what he just said, regretting it as much as Ray regrets hearing it.

Then Nate starts turning, and Ray isn't sure he wants to confront him, right now.

When Nate sees him, he stops dead in his tracks. There's an imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth, a hint of light across his face before it darkens again, so quickly that Ray thinks maybe he just imagined everything.

“Hey,” Nate licks his lips, glances away uncomfortably. “I was just-”

“Leaving without bothering to stop by and say hi?”

“I asked Zari to bring you my-”

“I heard that.” Ray steps into the room. He has questions, but doesn't know how to ask them without sounding as betrayed as he feels. “Why didn't you- You were _here_. You could have-”

Nate raises a hand, shakes his head with a sigh. “I really don't want to have this conversation right now, Ray.”

Despite his inner confusion, Ray forces himself to nod. He respects that. He does. He _does_. He's not going to impose his presence to anyone.

“Okay. I'm sure you have your reasons for not talking to me in forever.” Oh, it hurts. It hurts, but he swallows it, confines it in a dark recess of his mind for later to dig up, when he's alone. Where Nate can't see him _hurt_. “I shouldn't have- I'm sorry.”

His legs feel like lead as he turns and strides away. A part of him is waiting for Nate to call after him and tell him it was all a misunderstading, but the rest of him knows better by now: nothing was supposed to change, yet everything changed, to a point that Ray can't even recognise their friendship anymore. Since Nate has left the team, he's been feeling like he's limping, like he's missing a fundamental part of his person and can't remember what feeling whole used to be like.

This isn't happening to Nate, apparently. Which, if possible, hurts Ray even more.

He's almost reached his room when Nate rushes in through the hallway. He halts before Ray, panting a little, and tilts his head apologetically. “Sorry,” he exhales, trying to catch his breath. “I'm sorry, bro. I really am.”

The way he looks at Ray rewinds time, brings them back to how they used to be, and Ray can almost pretend the last few minutes never happened.

“I didn't mean to act like a jerk. I've had a few rough days, is all.”

“I understand,” Ray says, a bit too quickly. “You don't have to-”

“Yes, I do.” Nate's eyes lock with Ray's. Ray can't remember the last time he's seen him so serious.

“You don't deserve this,” says Nate. “I was trying to steer away from you because I didn't want to take out my crankiness on you. Which I did anyway,” he sighs, lifting an arm in Ray's direction. “Sorry about that, man.”

Ray's heart swells. Yet it still doesn't feel quite right between them. It's like something is trying very hard to slot into place but shapes and spaces don't match anymore. They can work on it, though. “Don't mention it,” he smiles. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Nate's hands disappear in his pockets as he shrugs and mumbles: “Not really.”

“Just a beer, then?” Ray offers, almost desperately. He can't let him go now. Not yet. “No talking.”

“No talking,” Nate echoes. He seems to weigh the promise, tempted but not convinced, then finally a hint of gratitude lits his face. “No talking sounds good.”

  
*

 

Nate is restless.

He's quiet and still, calm to a casual observer, but Ray knows every single inch of him, outside and inside, and he can see through this brittle facade, see the thoughts simmering in his mind, loud enough to cloud his attention, but not enough to reach his lips.

He's been here countless times – in this room, on this bed – yet it's like there's somebody else here with Ray.

When Nate decided to move to the Time Bureau, Ray hadn't worried, firm in his belief that the friendship between the two of them was stronger than a simple job transfer. This belief lasted for a while, it fought to survive the distance, but it wasn't long before it became clear to Ray that what is keeping them apart is not the physical distance – the miles, the portals they need to cross to see each other when all they needed to do once was turn around: for reasons that Ray cannot fathom, nor excuse, Nate has drifted away from him, off to somewhere else, a foreign dimension where he cannot be – or doesn't want to be – reached.

A dull ache starts pulsing in the middle of Ray's chest. It's the feeling of sitting next to someone who isn't really there.

“I miss this.”

Nate's voice sounds strange in the silence of the room, a drop breaking the still, fragile perfection of a water mirror.

Ray has an instinctive reply stuck down in his throat, something he wants to say – has wanted to say for way too long – but he can't bring himself to utter it. Because it would sound harsh, even if it's really just honesty, and he doesn't know how to edulcorate it, has no idea how to make it sound like it's not a complaint. Even if it is.

“Then why are you being a stranger?”

There, the accusing tone. It startles Nate, who barely dares a sideway glance at Ray, guilt painted all over his face. “You guys are carrying on just fine without me.”

“Doesn't mean we don't miss you.” If Nate thinks otherwise, he's a big fool. “ _I_ miss you.”

The hint of a laugh gets stuck between Nate's teeth. “You do, now?”

“Why that cynical tone?”

“You have a new bae, now, don't you?”

“No, I don't!”

“You sure?” Nate quirks a brow. “Huge green eyes, very beautiful and very sassy, locked up in a Time Bureau cell?”

The description brings a surge of colour to Ray's face. “You think Nora's my new best friend?”

Nate gazes at him with a crooked half a smile. “That's not what bae means, bro.”

“Really?” Ray puts down his beer to look the term up on his phone. “Oh.” Okay, maybe it's not _exactly_ what he thought it meant. “So that's it? You're just jealous 'cause you think Nora comes-” He checks the screen again. _“Before anyone else?”_

“It kinda hurts to be your second best.”

Ray distractly wonders whaveter happened to _no talking_. Perhaps it's the beer loosening Nate's tongue, or it might just be plain resignation.

“Except you're not?” he objects, frowning. If this is what Nate thinks, he's got it all wrong.

“Please.” Nate bites his lower lip, slowly shakes his head. “I saw the way you looked at Nora, okay? I knew I couldn't take it. It wasn't healthy for me to stay here and watch you fall in love with her.” Nate hangs his head, absently rubs his hands together. “I left before the inevitable happpened.”

Why is this a big deal, anyway? Why would Ray hypothetically falling in love with Nora make Nate feel threatened or neglected?

“You could have said something!”

“Yeah?” Nate pierces him with a glare. Ray's heart stops when he sees the faint red rimming his eyes. “And what would you have said?”

“That you were just imagining it!”

“Dude, it's okay,” Nate's posture relaxes a little. He even attempts a reassuring smile. “It's not your problem, it's mine. I'm just tired of people walking out on me. Tired of wondering why no one will stay for me. I guess it's me. I guess I'm not worth saying for.”

Nate's words trigger something buried deep in a dark corner of Ray's soul. He remembers Anna, who was gone too soon, and Felicity, who was never really there at all, and Kendra, who was there long enough for him to care, and abandoned him all the same.

_Tired of wondering why no one will stay for me._

It's like a stab. He takes the blow stoically, barely winces at the pain. He stares at him empty hands, all too aware of how closely Nate is sitting next to him. And that's when it hits him.

It was Nate. It was Nate for him, and he for Nate. The one who stayed. The one who didn't quit. The one who didn't walk away.

They were all of this for each other. And then they were not.

Ray feels like he has a thread between his fingers, thin and weary, ready to snap and slip away for good. Lost forever.

He can't let Nate go. He won't.

“I'm not walking out on you,” he mutters, not sure of what he is promising.

Nate shakes his head like he's not buying it but doesn't counter. Instead, he just mumbles: “I'm better off at the TB. It's easier if I don't see you every day.”

“Easier?” How can he say that? Nothing has been anywhere near _easy_ for Ray, since Nate left.

Nate scoffs in an amused tone that doesn't sound amused at all: “You just don't realise that, do you?”

“Realise what?”

The question seems to offend Nate. Even hurt him. “Never mind,” he says dismissively, facing away. “Forget I said anything.”

Ray watches him drain what's left of his beer and toss the bottle into the bin across the room with a neat shot.

Something clicks.

Ray suddenly recognises the look on Nate's face, the sadness and the helplessness. He's seen this look before, one night in front of a fire in a time far far away, when he told Nate he couldn't be with the one he loved.

Ray's mouth goes dry. He doesn't want to _assume_ , but a lot of pieces are coming together and now he can see the _why_ to so many things: the distance; the silence; the jealousy. The pent up frustration simmering into anger, then sorrow.

“Nate-” He doesn't know what he wants to say. He looks within himself and interrogates his own feelings, wondering if his own loneliness was born from this separation, if he, too, has been drowning in this bitter emptiness, mistaking it for common nostalgia, when, in fact, it may have been something else entirely.

Then Nate bolts up without warning, as if something has stung him. “I should go.”

“Wait!” Ray grabs his shoulder and pulls his back to the bed. Not exactly gently. So he adds more softly: “Wait. Just... don't go, yet. Please.”

Nate observes him intently, a question – _the_ question – spelled out clearly in the wide set of his eyes.

Ray's heart starts racing. They're tiptoeing on a sharp edge and the wrong movement could ruin everything – if there's anything left to ruin at all.

Nate scrutinises him, so closely Ray can feel him breathe. There's sadness in his eyes, and Ray wants to know, _needs_ to know, why all of a sudden everything seems so complicated.

A crease forms between Nate's brows. He looks conflicted. _Let me go_ , he seems to beg silently. Ray can feel his muscles tense under his palm, which is still lingering on Nate's shoulder like it's the only thing keeping him here. He mentally prepares himself to be rejected. Nate doesn't want to be here. Doesn't want to be with him.

“Okay,” Nate whispers pliantly, after what feels like an eternity. There's a slight contraction in his jaw, and yet he says, ever so softly: “Okay.”

Ray's hand shifts. It moves spontaneously, like following a familiar path in his muscles' memory, even though he's never touched Nate like this before – despite wanting to.

He waits for Nate to protest, to shrug him off. He doesn't. He just stares at Ray like his touch might shatter him any moment, something close to fear, but not quite, contracting his features, like a deer caught in headlights.

Whatever is happening, it has a will of its own. It drives Ray closer to Nate, thigh against thigh, and pushes him beyond ordinary boundaries, makes him want to cross a line he's always been unconsciously afraid of.

Cautiously, he flexes his fingers, sliding them past the hairline, where bare skin merges into soft, thick hair. He savours the tingle this gesture sparks in his wrist and down to his elbow, along his spine, only vaguely aware of the intimacy all of this implies, as if he and Nate have been doing this since forever – touching each other like friends are not supposed to touch, looking at each other in ways that make you feel naked and vulnerable and agonisingly incomplete.

His fingertips press gently into Nate's skull, crawling further into his hair, and the tension in Nate's muscles slowly melts away. Nate closes his eyes – a surrender, rather than a compliance – but there's no peace in his expression. An obvious reluctancy restrains his movement as he bends his head imperceptibly towards Ray and abandons himself to his gentle caresses – like he doesn't really want to but can't help it. Or has no choice.

Ray feels a perverse thrill at this sight – the sight of his best friend completely at his mercy, exposing his neck like a submissive animal trying not to succumb to a fiercer adversary.

This thought freezes him. And his heart.

Is this what he's doing to Nate? Is he masking selfishness with comfort to take advantage of him? Of his momentary fragility?

He retreats his hand in horror, ashamed of himself, shoulders and soul heavy with guilt. This isn't what he wants. He respects Nate too much – _loves him too much –_ to do this to him.

“Sorry,” he mutters embarrassedly. This is not him. This is not them. The last thing he wants is to taint what he and Nate have with the torbid fantasties ghosting at the edge of his mind. He has kept them at bay so far; there's no reason why he should fail now.

He's better than that. He's better. He is. _He is._

“You think I mind that?” Nate turns to Ray with a dark glint his eyes, something raw and fervent similar to hunger. Or thirst. Whatever it is, it makes Ray shiver. “It's all I want. I'm just not sure we want it in the same way.”

Nate waits for Ray to say something, to give him a sign he understood the meaning behind his words, but Ray is just more confused than before. He feels his fingers ache from the need to get back where they left off, back into Nate's hair, stroking, gliding, _pulling_. The feeling this mental picture rouses makes him clench his hand into a tight fist, the shame flaring back, making him cringe.

His silence lasts too long.

“I really should go,” says Nate after waiting too long for a reply that never came. He says so, but doesn't move. He just stares at Ray, eyes dark and glossy. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, lips pressed together.

Ray has things to say, to confess, but he's afraid he lacks the ability to put into words what he has inside. So he goes for a compromise, hoping it will buy him some time: “You don't look like you should be on your own.”

“Don't worry. I'll be fine,” Nate replies, even as a tear rolls down his face to die in the hem of his shirt.

There's no thinking behind Ray's movement: his hand rises and wipes the wet trail away, so naturally one may think it's a habit for him to dry his friend's tears when he cries. Maybe it should be. Maybe that fact that it _isn't_ is the main reason why they got to this. “Stay,” he begs. For some weird synaesthetic joke, he tastes salt on his tongue.

Nate smirks, and it's such a blue smirk it almost topples Ray's confidence. “Bad idea.”

“I mean it.”

“Me too.”

“ _Why?”_ Ray insists, gulping down the nervousness. He doesn't even know what he's doing: instinct has taken over his reason.

But Nate still won't trust him.

“Ray-”

“Why is it a bad idea to stay with me?”

Nate stands up, swats Ray's hand away when he tries to stop him. “Because that's what I want!” he snaps, baring his teeth in anger. _“That's what I've always wanted!”_

“Oh?” Ray's first reacion is breaking into a stupid grin. Which is twice as stupid, since Nate has just spat at him the most controversial love declaration ever. If that was a love decalration at all.

“ _Oh,”_ mocks Nate with a glower, then turns his back to Ray, heading for the door. “Goodnight, Ray.”

It would be so simple to let it end here. To let Nate go and the moment die, pretend nothing ever happened. But Ray is tired of games. Tired of pretending. Tired of words crawling on the tip of his tongue and never coming out.

Tired.

Just generally tired of everything.

He shuffles to the door, plants a hand on it before Nate can even open it. “My offer still stands.”

“Take it back,” Nate warns between his teeth.

It's a risk they're both taking. The stakes are high, but at this point it's go big or go home. And Ray is not going to let his _home_ get out of this door, this time.

“No.”

He's suffered enough heartbreak in his life, and yet here he is. He wonders how this happened without him even noticing. Wonders why his heart would ever want to love again – if it can at all – but the obvious answer to this question is staring right into his eyes. Right into him.

“Take it back before-”

“Before _what_ , Nate?”

Ray is angry, too, now. He's angry because Nate won't listen, and Nate started it all, so why the hell will he _not_ listen to what Ray's trying to tell him?

Nate's palm slides away from the lock panel and falls to his side. He looks at Ray, mere inches from his face. The colour of his irises is striking, and this closely Ray can see the golden halo, like stars and nebulae around his pupils, the print of a galaxy in shades of green and blue.

“Do you really want this?” Nate asks, his voice a hoarse whisper. His attention falls on Ray's mouth. He licks his lips, then looks up again, allows Ray to drown in the strings of nothern light in his eyes. Ray asks himself what Nate sees in his eyes. They seem to have nothing to offer: no stars, no stadust. Just thick, plain darkness.

“Yes,” Ray says, and he's so firm he suprises himself.

“Be honest,” Nate warns. There's a slight vibe in his tone, a hesitation. “I won't ask twice.”

Who wants to be asked twice?

“Yes, Nate, _I want this,”_ Out of frustration, Ray grabs his collar and pulls him to himself. _“_ I want _you_. I-”

“Oh, screw it.”

Nate shoves Ray's hands out of the way and lounges at him without grace or composure. His lips close over Ray's in an hungry kiss that has them both fumble for balance and pant for air within a few seconds.

They breathe each other's breath, skin wet where their lips and tongues strayed eagerly, demanding more and more until they are clinging so tightly to each other they can't tell anymore where one ends and the other begins.

And this how it's supposed to be, this how it's always been: two minds thinking alike, two bodies moving together in unison, always, _always_ in sync. Always connected.

This is how it's supposed to be.

This is the only right way.

“Ray,” Nate pants, forehead resting agaist Ray's shoulder as he tries to center himself again. “Are you really-”

Ray cups his face between his hands, makes him look up. He wants him to _see_. To see what he's doing to him – how he trembles with him in his arms, how his heart drums and his blood flares. He bends down slowly, inhales shakily before placing a delicate kiss of Nate's lips, cutting the nonsense he was about to pronounce.

“I thought you said you wouldn't ask twice.”

Nate's fingertips dig in his hips. There's a layer of cotton between them and Ray's skin, and Ray wants it gone. Wants Nate's nails in his flesh, down his back, wants his warmth all over himself and Nate naked for him to touch, to savour, to worship, to _keep_. Keep forever and never let go again.

He slips his hands under Nate's shirt, lingering at his belt with a question in his eyes. A question Nate answers by pulling his shirt off and throwing it across the room to wrap his arms around Ray's neck and pull him down and kiss him again, and again, and again, as though he needs these kisses, and not air, to live.

When Ray pulls back, Nate lets out a moan of protest. Detaching from him is excruciating, but Ray needs to get this off his chest now, before it's too late.

“There's no going back from here, pal.”

A lopsided grin appears on Nate's lips. He drags Ray back to him, brushes his face against his, nearing his mouth to Ray's ear to whisper: “Promise?”

Yes.

_Yes._

Ray wants to scream it, to carve it into Nate's skin for him to show to the world, a mark to remind him where he belongs.

Right here.

In this room.

In his arms.

In this kiss.

With him.

“Promise.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I can't stop writing about Steelatom. I dunno, maybe it's a disease. But it feels so good I don't ever want to be cured.  
> I got all angsty this time, because, okay, I'll admit this, I love angst, but so far my inspiration had kept it to a bare minimum.  
> Forgive any mistakes, as usual: I checked this multiple times and I surely will keep re-reading it until every stupid typo is fixed, but till then... bear with me.  
> As always, comments are more than welcome. They keep the spirts up and the inspiration fueled, so thanks in advance to whoever is going to leave a review. I have more WIPs in my pocket, so stay tuned. ;)


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